A Quidditch Story
by the-demelza-robins
Summary: In which an uber-competitive Slytherin chaser falls for an equally competitive Gryffindor captain.
1. Prologue

_It had started one day when the snow was settling onto the tree branches and leaves, this feeling of quiet and control that comes when the world is muted._

 _It had started when the girl was sitting at the fireplace and watching the clock, waiting for her father to get home._

 _It had started when her father had entered the door to their small house in New Yorkshire, brushing the white off of his coat and greeting his wife and child._

 _It had started when he gave her the broom - every twig pulled straight and tight, the handle gleaming, her tiny fingers holding it in awe._

 _It had started when he lead her out into their backyard and ordered her not to be afraid._

 _It had started when he told her to fly._

 _It had started when, many years later, a dusty hat had been placed on her head and determined the life she'd live for the next seven years._

 _It had started when, a year later, she gripped the same broom from all those years ago anxiously as she waited to try out for her house team._

 _It had started when she'd flown flawlessly._

 _It had started when the other members of her school berated her - no girl, they thought, could be as good a quidditch player as a boy could be._

 _It had started the first game of the season, when she stood in front of the changing room mirror and looked at the green uniform that hung loosely on her, self-doubt and worry flickering through her head._

 _It had started when she remembered her father's comforting hand on her shoulder from all those years ago, that moment when she'd learned how to fly._

 _It had started when she marched out of the changing room, confidence replacing the negativity._

 _It had started when they'd won - that game, and the game after, and the game after that._

 _It had started when her teammates accepted her, clapping her on the back after every game and hexing those who insulted her._

 _It had started when she'd been hailed by her housemates at the many victory parties thrown in the common room late at night - smuggled firewhisky, good friends, and a sense of purpose._

This fascination, it had a million different starting points. But the most important thing was this:

Grace Dark loved Quidditch. And she would do anything to win.


	2. Pressure

**IT WAS SNOWING AGAIN** as Grace set out across the dark Quidditch pitch, her broom clasped in her hands. Marcus Flint's words echoed over and over in her head, months old but still important. "Be grateful you're on the team after what happened last year. Practice more, every day at the least, and show me you're ready."

It was because she was a girl - never mind the fact that she'd been on the team for three years already and was in the middle of her fourth. No, he didn't care. She was a girl and a risk and needed to outperform everyone except him in order to be accepted.

But she knew she would outperform the rest of her team. She'd been rusty at the start of tryouts, but she'd get better. As for what happened last year, well, that was a huge misunderstanding on her part. She'd missed one game and had left her teammates in the dust after losing track of time in the library. She swore up and down that it would never happen again, and she meant it.

Mounting her broom in the middle of the field, she took off, enjoying the snow in her face and the last rays of the setting sun hitting her back. Many people thought that Quidditch was a team sport, and it was, for the most part. But there was also something eerily calming about doing loops around an empty pitch in the dark.

When her lips turned blue and her hands were almost frozen to her broom, she decided to call it a night. Heading back towards the ground, she resolved to take another spin tomorrow.

The next day, Grace was woken up with a pillow to the face. Grabbing a pillow of her own to throw, she immediately identified the perpetrator as Drew Cannon, one of her best friends since their first year at Hogwarts. Now, in their fifth year, they were still as close as ever.

Grace threw the pillow. It hit Drew in the face, but she hardly flinched. Instead, she looked in the mirror close to her bed, put her blonde hair in a ponytail, and said, "Come on, Grace. Breakfast isn't going to last forever."

"It should, though," Grace murmured, sitting up and grabbing her robes.

"I'm only waiting five minutes, so you better be quick!" Drew called after the girl, who was heading towards the bathrooms to get changed.

"You have no other friends, Drew. You'll wait," Grace called back.

The sound of her best friend's muffled cursing made the Slytherin laugh as she pulled on her robes and fastened on her tie. Soon, she was ready to leave, and the two friends made their way to the Great Hall.

"I hope it's pancakes for breakfast today," Grace said as they passed through the entrance and were immediately assaulted by a thousand different aromas.

Drew didn't answer. Instead, she was staring at the Gryffindor table, located next to Slytherin's.

"Drew?"

No answer. Frustrated, Grace elbowed her friend. "Drew!"

"Hello! Yes, what?"

"What on earth are you staring at?"

Drew's cheeks immediately colored. "No one."

"A person? A _person_ , Drew?"

As if it were possible, Drew's cheeks got even redder.

"Okay, now you have to tell me," Grace ordered, staring at her friend.

Drew shook her head. "You'll kill me," she whispered.

"Possibly. But I'm your best friend; you have to tell me." When the girl didn't respond, Grace asked irritably, "What's taking you so long?"

"I'm preparing to die," the other muttered. After a few more seconds of what appeared to be prayer, she cleared her throat. "Oliver Wood - he's kind of nice looking, isn't he?"

"Oliver Wood? _Oliver Wood?_ As in, captain of our rival Quidditch team? No, he's not 'nice looking', Drew, he's _utterly repulsive_!"

"Okay!" Drew yelled, attracting quite a few confused stares on their way to the Slytherin table. Lowering her voice to a hiss, she added, "It was just an observation, you're the one who made me share it -"

"I, for one, am disgusted that you'd even consider looking at him without booing or like any proper Slytherin would," Grace countered, still affronted by her friend's comment.

"Sometimes, Grace, I think you let Quidditch take over your life. If you're choosing between your best friend's potential happiness and house pride, you're in over your head."

"Well, I'm a proper Slytherin, and I'm going to bloody well act like one!" Grace huffed, sitting down at the table and filling her plate.

"Why are you eating so quickly?"

"Quidditch practice in fifteen minutes," the girl said between bites. "Mustn't be late."

Drew's face fell. "I thought you said we could go to Hogsmeade today."

"We can. Later. Wood is amping up his practices, and we have to beat him."

"But I wanted to go to Honeydukes," Drew pouted. "It closes at two every other Sunday."

"Sorry," Grace said, finishing her last bite of toast and standing up.

"You really aren't a great friend, are you," the other said.

"I'll make it up to you. We'll go after the Gryffindor versus Slytherin game."

"That's in a month!"

Grace pretended she didn't hear as she exited the Great Hall and then the school. After running across the grounds and retrieving her broom from the shed, she soared up into the sky.

This would be her year. She just knew it.

Five minutes later, the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team showed up, led by Marcus Flint, who was looking as surly as ever. The two other Chasers, Montague and Warren, followed closely behind him. The Beaters, Derrick and Bole, were hanging back and arguing with the Seeker, Draco Malfoy. Grace had never liked Malfoy – he was too braggy, and reliant on his father. But she couldn't complain – the brooms that the team had been supplied with were top-notch. She flew down to join the team.

"Listen," Marcus said, a note of threat in his voice, "last year's game against Gryffindor was pathetic. I can't believe their Seeker caught the snitch with a broken arm -" he glared at Malfoy - "especially when we were off to such an amazing start."

Malfoy started to mumble excuses but was quickly cut off with a look from the captain. "That's why we're practicing three times per week. No excuses. No skipping."

At that, Grace could feel the eyes of the entire team on her. She nodded resolutely, even though she hadn't intended to skip.

"Grace, we need a strong defense. Wood isn't the worst Keeper. You need to be better than him."

"I understand."

"Good," Marcus said. "Let's get to it, then."


End file.
